


stick it to the man

by TrasBen



Series: Gym Au [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Cross | Xtale Sans (Undertale), Cross | Xtale Sans (Undertale)/Killer | Something New Sans (Undertale), Dream | Dreamtale Dream (Undertale), Fencing, Gym AU, Killer | Something New Sans (Undertale), M/M, Romantic Sparring, hints of cream, kross - Freeform, written by somebody who knows nothing about fencing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29518260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrasBen/pseuds/TrasBen
Summary: In which Killer brings (2) sticks to a fencing match.
Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: Gym Au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170323
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55





	stick it to the man

**Author's Note:**

> warning in case you didnt read the tags: this is fencing written by someone who knows NOTHING about fencing and is actually just kross beating each other up with sticks 'cause i said so

_A hint of a bare collar bone._

_The fleeting sound of golden laughter, the brief catch of golden eye lights on mismatched white and red -_

“i’d say heads up, but i'm pretty sure your skull is already in the clouds.” 

Cross startles out of his small reverie, back to where Killer is standing casually. 

They’re at the gym, which is pretty obvious considering the multitude of machines scattered all about. At the center of it all is a large area with padded flooring for people practicing one thing or another. Most often, he and Killer use it to spar together with their fencing equipment. They could rent a room for it, and sometimes they do, but sometimes it’s just easier to practice footwork and not worry about equipment.

Near the edges of the room are glass doors. Typically, those rooms are for classes. Weight training classes, spin classes and… yoga classes. Over the past few months Cross and Killer have been coming here, there’s one instructor that seems to hold class almost every time they’ve visited.

Surely, it’s some sort of coincidence… but Cross can’t help but notice the graceful curve of the instructor’s bones, or the way his loose clothes hang from them.

It’s become somewhat of a point of contention between him and Killer, mostly because Killer likes to whistle really loudly when he catches Cross staring. One time he’d even caught the attention of the instructor, causing him to glance over. Cross had made almost exclusively offensive plays that training session.

But now, Killer’s got Cross’ full attention. “shut up.” Cross grumbles, “we’re not even in a match.”

“but we could be.” Killer replies, snarky. He’s holding out something that looks like a giant wooden stick. After a moment, Killer wiggles it towards him, as if to say, _‘hey, take it, idiot’_.

With a standard frown, Cross takes the stick. It’s heavy, with grooves near the bottom for grip that widen into a simple pommel and a flat slab for a guard.

“whatever.” Cross scoffs, testing the weight of the faux-sword in his hands. “... what’s this?”

Killer snorts, “you’re a big boy, c’mon, tell me, what’s it look like?” He’s got one of his own. It’s identical to the one Cross is holding, but Killer uses his like a walking stick. The end isn’t even sharpened. It’s literally just a dull hunk of wood with a hilt.

“not a sabre.” Cross retorts peevishly. He looks it over again, wondering if Killer pawned their weapons off for rent money or something. He hadn’t thought they were getting that down on their luck... 

Cross’ frown etches deeper when Killer laughs again. Never in his life has he wanted to stick a foil down his training partner’s non-existent throat. Well. That’s a lie, but it sure feels that way at the moment.

“hehe, what’s got you so upset, crossy-kins? mad you got caught-out for staring at golden boy over there?” Killer goads with a sly grin.

Cross’ grumbling is answer enough for the other.

Killer chuckles one last time as he pretends to wipe a tear away, although his phalanx catches on some of the black goo that is forever dripping from his eye sockets. He swipes it over his sweater without so much as a downward glance.

_So what?_ He’s in a bad mood about being called out for looking over at the pretty yoga instructor. It’s not like Killer’s never been caught ogling someone or other at the gym.

Cross taps at the matted ground aggressively with the stick with a huff, “just tell me what we’re doing.” He bites out past the mixture of embarrassment and annoyance currently heating his cheekbones.

“figured you could use some agility practice.” Killer responds easily. He nods to the stick in Cross’ hands, “these are heavier than the sabres, hurt more too. think of them as… incentives to doge.”

Cross gives the almost-sword a considerate look. Sabres are probably the most aggressive weapons in fencing already, seeing as the strategy for them rewards those who go for the offense over the defense. 

Recklessly barging into a match has left both him and Killer with their fair share of bruises, even through the lamé and plastrons.

A hard touch from a sabre hurts enough when it’s coming from Killer. Cross can only imagine what one would feel like when he’s being slapped with a staff-shaped wooden sword.

… 

Strangely, it’s an enticing offer.

… 

When Cross looks back up, Killer is grinning at him in that smug, knowing way. Of course he already knew Cross wouldn’t be able to resist a challenge like this.

“... are we counting points?” Cross asks after a moment of studying the way Killer slouches. The hot buzz of anticipatory magic is already surging through his joints.

“nope, first one who yields has to pay for dinner.” Killer nearly sings. He’s quick to fall forward onto his toes right after, bending his right knee in a way that Cross instantly recognizes.

He has all of a second to skip back before Killer thrusts his sword forward, impaling the spot that Cross had been standing not a second ago. Cross feels his soul beat start to speed up at the rush of almost-danger.

“that’s illegal and you know it!” Despite himself, Cross grins. A fleche is probably the most aggressive move in the entire sport, which is likely why it’d been banned for sabre users. But Killer doesn’t giving a flying fuck outside of a real match, so Cross should definitely be on guard.

Heh. _En Guarde_.

He’s not even allowed to take a breather. Killer’s already moving forward to make another lunge, which Cross quickly parries. It gives him room for a riposte, allowing Cross to make his own move, pushing Killer back towards the wall just slightly.

“my bad!” Killer grins, “pret, allez! there, better?”

Though Killer sounds confident, his parry is weak, allowing Cross to make a remise right after. He thrusts out his sword again, which Killer barely manages to block with his own.

They’re locked into a slight pause. Not quite a corps-a-corps, but their blades are engaged so that Killer can’t throw Cross off and Cross can’t brute force him into submission. It offers them a face-to-face moment that wouldn’t be otherwise possible with their flimsy sabres.

Both him and Killer are grinning wide enough to split their skulls. There’s something invigorating about a playful one-on-one. No jackets, plastrons, or masks. Of course, they’ve still got their gloves on, if only to protect their phalanges from being crushed.

After a second of heavy breathing, Cross backs off. He takes a few steps away, leaving his arms at his sides.

“for real, now?” He requests amiably.

Killer’s grin falls to a half smirk as he opens up his own posture and shakes off the tension. “yeah, yeah. squeaky clean.” He replies.

Almost simultaneously, they offer the customary salute fall into the half-crouched position with one arm at their side.

“count of three!” Killer calls, so they both wait a few seconds before springing to life.

Cross manages to get in the first offensive move, but leaves himself open beneath his arms, resulting in a touch to the area under his right arm, into his middle ribs. He hides the wince and scurries back.

The sticks hurt about just as much as Cross expected them to. He’s sure that’ll make a nice purple bruise to ice later.

At the moment, he focuses on trying to give Killer a matching mark. Seeing as this whole exercise was his idea, Cross thinks it’s only fitting he should be the one paying for take-out. The fluorescent lighting of the gym makes it easy to see the way sweat is beading at the top of Killer’s skull, and Cross can feel a droplet or two sliding down his own.

He’s fairly used to the way Killer moves by now, so it’s easy to tell when he’s baiting him with a beat of his sword to Cross’ or a false lunge. Cross operates rather simply in comparison: His ideal move would be a clean lunge and thrust after a strong parry, which is why he usually allows his opponents to move first.

Killer’s strategy is to get a feel for his opponent’s movements, although in Cross’ opinion, it’s much too cat-and-mouse.

One such false lunge gives Cross the opening to thrust straight forward into Killer’s sternum, knocking him back a few inches. 

“hah, shit!” Killer laugh-coughs. It’s a wheezy noise, but Killer somehow manages to make it sound like he’s still winning.

Since he’s nice, Cross lets Killer catch his breath before making another thrust. It’s more of a slash, though, aimed towards Killer’s midsection on his left side. It’s a hard move to block, however, Killer manages to not only catch Cross’ blade in its tracks, but throw it off. Consequently, Cross is the one pushed back this time.

Unsurprisingly, Cross’ ankles are the ones feeling this whole debacle. Even more so than his incoming bruise.

The footwork required for fencing is delicate and taxing, especially since the swords they’re using are much heavier than the typical fencing weapons. It’s like his feet are working double time to make up for trying to balance the new weight.

Cross has to quickly block a few more attacks, one of which manages to catch him right under the jaw. He’d complain, but he’s too busy trying not to catch the stick on his clavicle right after.

“damnit…”

He makes a brash move of his sword. It arcs in a swing more than a thrust, but it gets Killer off of him for a second so he can breathe. Cross gives a follow-up thrust that nicks Killer right on his forearm. 

“fuck, fuck…” Killer hisses and fumbles with his sword for a minute, skipping back to reassess.

In a move atypical for fencing, the two just stare at each other for a moment. If this was a bout, the referee might have called a foul.

But there is no referee. Just them staring while panting, holding their weapons defensively should either take advantage of the pause. 

… 

In a move much _more_ typical of Killer, the shorter skeleton is the first to attack again. The lunge is easy to block, betraying Killer’s still-weak grip. Cross reluctantly takes advantage of the opening and makes a touch to Killer’s bottom ribs.

Killer curls over slightly with another groan. Almost without looking, He thrusts his sword forward. The blind attack is met with Cross’ own blade, but as he moves forward, he finds that Killer doesn’t relent his position.

He swears he can hear the beating of his own soul in his skull. Like a drum that plays exclusively to his own magic.

Locked together again, Cross debates the ethics of pushing Killer down. Meanwhile, Killer gets a hold of himself and starts to push back, stronger.

He winks at Cross, “not winning that easy, heh.”

Cross’ teeth curve up into a weak smirk. “we’ll see.”

He pushes, but Killer’s tapping into some sort of last-second strength that allows him from being overtaken.

Slowly, without either of them realizing it, their blades start to slip against each other until it’s their hilts that are locked together. Almost nose-to-nose, they both look down in shock.

“well, what do you know…” Killer wheezes, sounding genuinely shocked.

Cross grunts in acknowledgement, “corps-a-corps. illegal move.”

The words hang in the air. Killer seems to consider them for a moment, “so. who’s at fault?”

Cross huffs. Like he has to ask. _He’s_ the one who made the decision to meet his blade with Killer’s rather than dodge and make a lunge of his own. From any outside perspective, it’s easy to see who the blame should fall on.

“that’s…” Cross starts. He grits his teeth, not wanting to admit to the infraction.

Killer seems to realize Cross’ line of thinking. “oh? did crossy make an illegal move?” He half-snickers. The sound gets caught up in his sternum, where he’s likely still feeling the hit Cross gave him earlier. It gives his voice a raspy quality that unfairly reminds Cross of their somewhat infrequent nights together.

“we both engaged.” Cross argues pointlessly, because they both already know. Killer could have called him out earlier, but they both let it get to the hilt-to-hilt position.

His training partner hums. “but you’re at fault. so, you yielding or not?”

Cross could say no. He could refuse, and they’d both go back to starting position all over again. Killer had set the rules for the crude match just defined enough that there’s a clear line between the winner and the loser, and that’s who gives up first.

But Killer’s breath is still rattling around in his rib cage from that sternum hit, and Cross’ feet are sore from all the footwork it takes to keep up with Killer.

What’s one dinner…?

“yeah, fine.” Cross sighs, “i yield.”

Killer steps back almost instantly, leaving Cross to stumble forward a bit. He grouches quietly to himself while Killer brushes himself off, acting as if he’d just won a trophy or something.

“you’re getting better, cross.” Killer praises Cross like one would a well-groomed dog. “maybe one of these days you’ll learn when to stop holding back.”

Cross decides to ignore the obvious bait. Instead of responding, he starts to pack up the meager equipment they’d brought. Well, the sticks certainly explain Killer’s heavy suggestion to leave behind their uniforms this afternoon.

Killer does the same after a minute, wiping down the mats they’d been using and tossing Cross’ towel over at him. “i want chinese tonight!” He exclaims when Cross uses it to wipe his brow.

“up yours.” Cross retorts loudly and testily.

He isn’t sure if the bird he flips adds to Killer’s delight, or if it’s the clear dejection in his tone. Knowing Killer, it could be either.

But, _either_ way, it had been a good session. Even with the bruises forming on his bones.

Unconsciously, Cross’ eyes find the door to the yoga instructor’s room. He can just barely see the other through the glass door, moving through a pose that puts his hips in the air. 

Cross scrubs away the blush that threatens to overcome his face and glances back, just in time to see Killer approach swiftly as he throws an arm over Cross’ shoulder.

“well then,” He winks, “pei wei is waiting.”

“... yeah.” Cross says. 

He lets himself be led out of the gym.

**Author's Note:**

> did i research fencing for hours just to write a fic about kross hitting each other with big sticks? yes. will there be more accurate fencing in the future? perhaps
> 
> is this an accurate representation of what is legal/illegal in fencing? god no please dont trust a word i say
> 
> __  
> my partner @ me: this isnt fencing this is just toy soldiers with sticks
> 
> me: shhhhhh,,,, shhhh..... fencing.....  
> __
> 
> in other words my power was out for 2 days and i had a lot of time to Think. about. things... like kross.... and cream... and driller.... and (whispers) kcrm....
> 
> but??? where is nightmare you ask??? hm. mysteries for later.


End file.
